[It's 5am, and normally Koby is awake and at the gym by now, but the persistent headache in his neck and shoulders and spine has made him want to do nothing but sleep. Still, he'd agreed to this, after all. So:]
I have a typewriter, but if you make fun of it, I'm leaving.
Salt, really. I'll bring it, you can add your own. I don't like sugar either.
It's a machine that allows you to translate text onto paper. It's a little noisy but I like the sound.
[Koby's settled at the library well ahead of time, some of his notes and files stacked around his hot pink Hello Kitty typewriter. Do not ask.
He's sipping coffee black from a thermos, a second one set on the table with the salt shaker beside it. As per usual, he looks exhausted, wearing a creased men's shirt that isn't his own, as it's easily five sizes too big.]
[ he doesn't reply to koby and opts to travel to the library instead, carrying with him a thick journal and a writing pen — it clicks when he presses the top, reveal the writing edge, and aemond is so fascinated by it.
he pulls a chair quietly from across koby, when he finds their table, though his actions seem like they should be overloud. ]
[The headache is still there, and when Aemond approaches, Koby's slowly massaging at his temples, trying to banish the pulsating pain that spreads down his spine, over his shoulders. It doesn't work, and he jumps a little when Aemond speaks, knocking a wobbly stack of notes askew and prompting him to hastily correct it.]
I didn't ask for it to be this color specifically. I think it was the library's idea of a joke. [Tapping the stack of papers on the desk to straighten them, Koby looks over the tops of his glasses at Aemond, thoughtfully.] That other thermos is yours, and I brought salt. I tried a little in mine, actually -- it was all right.
But you asked for a writing tool such as this. And it was granted easily?
[ there are favourites with the library, then. if one follows the belief that the keep is sentient, that the rooms move around according to unknown desires — why wouldn't a room of gifts not have its preferences? dragons choose their riders, and the library chooses favourites.
such is the nature of his life here with house balfour, apparently. aemond nods in koby's direction as he sits and takes a sip of his coffee, so he knows how much salt he'd like to add. ]
Sweet drinks tend to upset me, I find. Salt, on the other hand — it's rather delightful, in moderation.
[ unable to resist, aemond also reaches out to straighten the edges of koby's pile of notes. some of the sheets are shorter than the others; he desires to re-sort them by length and texture, but he must respect that it is not his system to manage. ]
I did. And it was. [Koby’s marveled over that himself, the relative ease with which he’d gotten the typewriter, embarrassingly-decorated as it is. It still works, the clicking of the keys steady and unflinching – and he quite likes the sound, the soft pattering like rainfall.
He starts it up now, flicking the power button and feeding a piece of paper into the typewriter, then beginning to type. Perhaps there’s a touch of showing off – Koby had been clumsy and unpracticed when he first arrived, but months of typing up notes has him able to hit the keys without looking, glancing over the top at Aemond instead.] Too loud? I have a lot of handwritten notes to type up, so I hope you don’t mind if I multi-task.
[Then, after a momentary pause, watching Aemond straighten the notes:] The smaller pages are handwritten – could you help me separate them out, maybe? I didn’t bring anything confidential, I don’t mind if you read them.
[Either he’d spotted and discerned exactly what Aemond wanted to do, or he genuinely wants the help; either way, Koby pulls a handwritten page outlining the second round of werewolf voting out of a stack, starting to rapidly type it up.] I don’t like sweet things either. I’m used to ship rations, they tend to be pretty bland and flavorless.
Mmm, first question… [Another piece of paper, this time pulled out of his pocket, set on the opposite side of the typewriter, so Aemond can’t peek.] The dragons – are they attached to the throne or the Targaryen family? Which came first?
[ with a task given and a question spoken, aemond gets right to work. he's always his most settled when he has something to do with his hands, and this is no different. ]
You ask two questions, Koby, [ he counters with a small smile, but he allows it for now. the sheaf of papers is re-shuffled and quickly sorted, aemond even taking a moment to arrange them according to the order of the texts. he's quick to do it, and quick to read the sheets as he does. ]
Dragons were born, according to legend, from a moon breaking in half up in the sky, fire spilling out and down and with them the first dragons to roam the known world. The sheep herders of Valyria came upon these dragons, and formed a bond with them. Together the dragons and their riders conquered the lands of Essos, bringing to rise the kingdom of Valyria of old. It was a kingdom of kings, who ruled the continent with great power and claimed for itself great wealth.
Then the Doom came, burning the sky a second time, and left remaining was our family and our dragons. The last of Old Valyria, and of the great dragonlords. From a dream, our ancestors looked to the west to conquer new lands - to Westeros - and brought forth a new kingdom. From the ashes of the conquered lands, the Seven Kingdoms rose under the Targaryen crown.
My dragon, Vhagar, was among the dragons that flew across the sea to rain fire upon the Westerosi kingdoms in conquest.
Two inextricable questions. [Koby watches Aemond work for a moment with a quietly bemused half-smile, before returning to typing up his notes. The stack of typed and handwritten notes tell an odd story -- prior to October, Koby was in the habit of jotting down observations in the moment, usually in messy shorthand or bullet-pointed lists, though he's careful to date everything so he knows if they're firsthand accounts or things he found out later. However, immediately after the account of Embry's death, the notes stop entirely, until the night of the Otherworld party, when a list of the guests attending is jotted on the back of a napkin. Nothing written during the actual game, aside from an elaborate spreadsheet of everyone's names and what he'd known about their roles.
This, Koby quickly reaches over and pulls from the stack, sticking it back into his bag.] Sorry. Forgot that was -- in there. [Then, refocusing:] You mentioned dragons live a very long time. Still, if Vhagar flew with your ancestors to conquer the kingdoms, she must be on the older side. Had she had riders before you?
[Typing for a moment -- a new page now, this one noting down Aemond's words nearly verbatim.] That's more than even just two questions. Do you mean what do I do or do I like it or my day-to-day or my society or geography or something else completely? [The name "Vhagar" is spelled correctly, against all odds -- Koby's see a family tree and is fairly familiarized with the naming customs of Targaryens -- though "Westerosi" has an "e" added to the end.] I guess in broad strokes, it's much better recently than it was for the first two years I was at sea. I grew up on an island, I only left when I was sixteen.
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text — un: aemond_ ( before kobysplosion )
text; nerd alliance
I have a typewriter, but if you make fun of it, I'm leaving.
And coffee. How do you like it?
text to action (eventually);
Thick and bitter. No sugar, a dash of cream and milk, a pinch of salt.
[ do not ask why. ]
I would not know what a typewriter is, but if it makes too much noise, I make no promises.
action~
It's a machine that allows you to translate text onto paper. It's a little noisy but I like the sound.
[Koby's settled at the library well ahead of time, some of his notes and files stacked around his hot pink Hello Kitty typewriter. Do not ask.
He's sipping coffee black from a thermos, a second one set on the table with the salt shaker beside it. As per usual, he looks exhausted, wearing a creased men's shirt that isn't his own, as it's easily five sizes too big.]
action onwards;
he pulls a chair quietly from across koby, when he finds their table, though his actions seem like they should be overloud. ]
It's colourful, your typewriter.
no subject
I didn't ask for it to be this color specifically. I think it was the library's idea of a joke. [Tapping the stack of papers on the desk to straighten them, Koby looks over the tops of his glasses at Aemond, thoughtfully.] That other thermos is yours, and I brought salt. I tried a little in mine, actually -- it was all right.
no subject
[ there are favourites with the library, then. if one follows the belief that the keep is sentient, that the rooms move around according to unknown desires — why wouldn't a room of gifts not have its preferences? dragons choose their riders, and the library chooses favourites.
such is the nature of his life here with house balfour, apparently. aemond nods in koby's direction as he sits and takes a sip of his coffee, so he knows how much salt he'd like to add. ]
Sweet drinks tend to upset me, I find. Salt, on the other hand — it's rather delightful, in moderation.
[ unable to resist, aemond also reaches out to straighten the edges of koby's pile of notes. some of the sheets are shorter than the others; he desires to re-sort them by length and texture, but he must respect that it is not his system to manage. ]
You get the first question. For the coffee.
no subject
He starts it up now, flicking the power button and feeding a piece of paper into the typewriter, then beginning to type. Perhaps there’s a touch of showing off – Koby had been clumsy and unpracticed when he first arrived, but months of typing up notes has him able to hit the keys without looking, glancing over the top at Aemond instead.] Too loud? I have a lot of handwritten notes to type up, so I hope you don’t mind if I multi-task.
[Then, after a momentary pause, watching Aemond straighten the notes:] The smaller pages are handwritten – could you help me separate them out, maybe? I didn’t bring anything confidential, I don’t mind if you read them.
[Either he’d spotted and discerned exactly what Aemond wanted to do, or he genuinely wants the help; either way, Koby pulls a handwritten page outlining the second round of werewolf voting out of a stack, starting to rapidly type it up.] I don’t like sweet things either. I’m used to ship rations, they tend to be pretty bland and flavorless.
Mmm, first question… [Another piece of paper, this time pulled out of his pocket, set on the opposite side of the typewriter, so Aemond can’t peek.] The dragons – are they attached to the throne or the Targaryen family? Which came first?
no subject
You ask two questions, Koby, [ he counters with a small smile, but he allows it for now. the sheaf of papers is re-shuffled and quickly sorted, aemond even taking a moment to arrange them according to the order of the texts. he's quick to do it, and quick to read the sheets as he does. ]
Dragons were born, according to legend, from a moon breaking in half up in the sky, fire spilling out and down and with them the first dragons to roam the known world. The sheep herders of Valyria came upon these dragons, and formed a bond with them. Together the dragons and their riders conquered the lands of Essos, bringing to rise the kingdom of Valyria of old. It was a kingdom of kings, who ruled the continent with great power and claimed for itself great wealth.
Then the Doom came, burning the sky a second time, and left remaining was our family and our dragons. The last of Old Valyria, and of the great dragonlords. From a dream, our ancestors looked to the west to conquer new lands - to Westeros - and brought forth a new kingdom. From the ashes of the conquered lands, the Seven Kingdoms rose under the Targaryen crown.
My dragon, Vhagar, was among the dragons that flew across the sea to rain fire upon the Westerosi kingdoms in conquest.
[ it should answer sufficiently. ]
What is your life like, at sea?
no subject
This, Koby quickly reaches over and pulls from the stack, sticking it back into his bag.] Sorry. Forgot that was -- in there. [Then, refocusing:] You mentioned dragons live a very long time. Still, if Vhagar flew with your ancestors to conquer the kingdoms, she must be on the older side. Had she had riders before you?
[Typing for a moment -- a new page now, this one noting down Aemond's words nearly verbatim.] That's more than even just two questions. Do you mean what do I do or do I like it or my day-to-day or my society or geography or something else completely? [The name "Vhagar" is spelled correctly, against all odds -- Koby's see a family tree and is fairly familiarized with the naming customs of Targaryens -- though "Westerosi" has an "e" added to the end.] I guess in broad strokes, it's much better recently than it was for the first two years I was at sea. I grew up on an island, I only left when I was sixteen.